


Borrowed

by storm_of_sharp_things



Series: storm’s IGRPDC 2021 [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Banter, Gen, inexcusable wardrobe theft, maybe future murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-25 00:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30080964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: IGRPDC 2021 Week 2Prompt: “Get over it” (must appear word for word, but not necessarily as dialogue)Genre: pre-canonWord Count: 300 to 350 words, inclusiveWhy so many of Arthur's stories end with "...and that's when I shot him."
Series: storm’s IGRPDC 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206368
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Inception Gen/Rare Pair Drabble Competition





	Borrowed

“Sorry Dom, I’m going to be late to the meeting.” Arthur’s tone over his cellphone was short and sharp.

“What? I need you here! This is a difficult client!”

“ _Someone’s_ gone through my hotel room. My best suit jacket’s missing. You know, the dark charcoal cashmere one?”

Dom frowned, bewildered. “It wasn’t me. You’ve got a slimmer build — I’d rip the seams of your jacket.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Yes, Dom, I know you’re husky...”

“Husky! Hey, just because my shoulders are broader doesn’t mean...”

“That you’re pudgy?”

“Pudgy!” Dom straightened in outrage. “Listen, Mal borrows _your_ stuff all the time, skinny boy!”

“Oh, for...look, I know it wasn’t you!”

“Well okay then.”

Arthur’s answering mutter was too quiet to make out and Dom frowned and fiddled with the volume on his Blackberry.

“IT WASN’T THE HOTEL STAFF,” Arthur said, with irritation, and Dom frantically turned the volume back down. “I already talked to them.”

“Well, who else could it have been?” Dom looked up as the suite door opened and Nash strolled in. With the client. The notoriously standoffish and demanding client who was grinning happily with an arm companionably thrown around Nash’s smug shoulders.

“Mr Cobb! You didn’t tell me your associates had such fine dress sense! As a man who surrounds himself with the finer things, I didn’t know if I could work with, well, _you_ ,” he gestured dismissively at Cobb’s brown sports-coat, “but Mr Nash reassures me that my little job is in good hands! Look! Look at the quiet elegance of the color! The fine fabric!”

Dom took in the quiet elegance of the dark charcoal color and the undeniable cashmere-ness of the fabric. “Er,” he said.

“Hush, Henri,” Nash replied cheerfully. “I can’t hold a candle to your tailored perfection, of course. Come have a cocktail before we start.” He steered the man toward the small bar.

“Dom,” Arthur growled dangerously in his ear. “Is Nash wearing my suit jacket?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “And he just managed a miracle. Get over it for now and I promise you can kill him later.”


End file.
